It could draw the four of us closer together. Which could make my and Wynonna’s jobs sooooo much easier.

I gave a great sigh, like the proverbial jig was finally up.

“I can explain,” I said.

I basically fed Holden’s story right back to him. Because he had hypothesized the whole thing on his own, I didn’t even have to convince him of anything.

“I knew it!” he said. “Goddammit, I knew it!”

He looked rather proud of himself—which was good. Feeling proud meant he wasn’t angry.

“Ezra and I screwed up,” I said, in conclusion. “He and I both know that. We want to make things normal again. But it might take a while for things to adjust. Some days, Ezra might not be himself. I might not be myself. We need your and Imogen’s help in that department. Ezra needs your help.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” said Holden, nodding.

“I know about his crush on Imogen.”

“Holy shit! He told you?”

“We had sex. Is that really more surprising than us having sex?”

Holden had to think about that for a second. Shook his head slowly. “No. I guess not.”

“Okay, so… look. It’s probably best if I talk to Ezra first. Let him know that I talked to you. In the meantime, can I ask a favor?”

“Uh… sure?”

“Can you talk to Imogen?”

“What? You want me to talk to her?”

“I don’t know where she is. And even if I did, I don’t know if she’d talk to me. She really wanted to be Viola, and… well, you were there.”

Holden bit his lip. Nodded thoughtfully.

“If you talk to her,” I said, “maybe she won’t be mad at me anymore. Then I can help you matchmake Ezra and Imogen.”

Holden received that last bit like a baseball to the head. He sort of wobbled back in his seat for balance. “Wait. You’ll help us?”

“Dude,” I said. “The sooner they’re together, the sooner all this awkwardness will be behind us. Why wouldn’t I help you?”

Holden looked me dead in the eyes—dead as a redshirt in Star Trek.

Then he cracked a grin. He extended his hand to shake on it.

“Wynonna,” he said, Humphrey Bogart–esquely, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

I was still Wynonna by the end of school, so I hightailed it to my house. Ezra’s house. I only stalled once, but it was at a stop sign in my neighborhood with no witnesses. So it was almost like it never happened.

All the while, I kept my eyes peeled for that shady-as-fuck Malibu with its matching driver.

No Malibu. No skeezy bearded dude, dressed for a stakeout. The drive home was completely sketch-free.

When I finally pulled into my cul-de-sac, I came to a verrrrry slow stop in front of my house.